Godwood
by miss-olivia-winchester
Summary: Clark finds himself lost in what he is sure is some crazy Arthurian dream, in which he is mistaken for a noble family's son.
1. Chapter 1

Some days, when a sigh seems like more, or blink can take hours, a haze falls over your mind. It was a hot, sticky day, and Clark tried to make it look as if he was slowed or bothered by the heat like everyone else was. He wasn't. Summer was trudging forward, halfway through July, not that Clark could ever keep track-it was summer, after all. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn't help but feel he needed the sleep that was beginning to poke at him gently. His eyes were drooping slowly and getting heavy...maybe Lois' late night habits were starting to make an impact on him. She had such a weird sleep schedule; crashing at 3 in the morning and waking up near 11 am or noon.

Luckily he was already sitting at his couch in the barn loft, so his slumped figure found a place to rest on the cushions and small pillows. Daylight was fading as Clark faded, as well, slowly losing consciousness and slipping into places he didn't know he'd ever be.

It seemed as if Clark had only just closed his eyes as he heard the bellowing cry of who sounded to be an old man-a very pissed-off old man, of course.

"Merlin!" the man called, sounding as disgruntled as Clark felt at being woken up so suddenly. The only problem was that the minute Clark was fully conscious, he realized that he was not where he'd fallen asleep. At all.

"Coming, Gaius...," a young man's voice grumbled, seeming to come downstairs, if that was nearby. Clark sat up fully now, beginning to look around at where he was- only he had no idea where exactly that was. The small room looked medieval, with only a single window in one wall, a door facing him from his position on the cot-like bed and a simple side table next to the bed. As Clark finished looking around, still sitting on the bed, the door opened and his attention was turned towards it.

An old man-who Clark presumed was the irritated one who'd woken him up-walked into the room with a cross look on his face. Clark was mystified even more at the man's apparel...why did he look like he'd just been to the Renaissance Festival?

"Who are you? How on earth did you get in here?" he asked in a British accent, which only confused Clark further. Clark could only stutter, and hadn't even gotten a word out when the young man he must've heard came into the room.

The guy looked to be maybe Clark's age, but it was hard to tell since he was one of those kids that could have been 15 but had an age far beyond their own, especially in the young man's dark blue eyes. He looked Clark over with a furrowed brow and asked the old man quietly, "Do you know him?"

"I was just about to ask you the same question!" he snapped, exasperated as he glanced over at Clark nervously. Clark himself was beginning to wonder if this was all a dream, or maybe something Jor-El was trying in order to catch him off-guard. If that was the case, it sure was working.

Trying to keep from panicking, Clark shifted slightly on the bed and gulped before announcing, "My name's Clark. I-I don't really know how I got here..."

The old man scoffed. "You don't know how you just ended up in the most highly protected building in Camelot? I'm quite sure you didn't magically appear!" The young man cast his eyes down for a moment, as if the mention of such a method put him off a bit.

"Wait, Camelot? Is this...some kind of joke?" Clark laughed nervously, almost trying to convince himself it was only just.

"I don't know, is it? Are you a servant? I haven't seen you around," the young man spoke up finally, in a British accent the same as the old man's. He struck Clark as a shy person, but maybe one who was more lively when you got to know him. The guy had blackish hair just like Clark, but had darker eyes and more of an emotional depth than it seemed people would give him credit for. He was tall and lanky, with a thin face and sharp cheekbones, and wore a brown jacket over a blue shirt and red kerchief around his neck. It would be funny, if not in such a strange situation as this, to think that the young man had the same color choice as him when it came to clothing.

Clark simply shook his head in response to the stranger's question, then asked with slight hesitance, "Is this one of my trials? I know I probably shouldn't ask, but..."

"Merlin, is this some sort of prank?" the old man asked the young man quietly, turning his head as if Clark wouldn't hear that way. He was wrong, of course.

The teenager, Merlin, apparently, shook his head steadily and insisted, "I swear, Gaius, I have no idea who he is or where he came from. Or why he has such a funny accent."

Clark narrowed his eyes and stood up, finally deciding to figure this out assertively. The two strangers noticed him standing up and tensed up apprehensively before Gaius inquired, "Are you familiar with the rules pertaining to magic in Camelot, Clark?" Magic? To be honest, he was still getting used to their accents and medieval style of attire.

"No," Clark admitted, and Gaius sighed.

In a grave tone, the old man told Clark, "If you were a sorcerer, and you did come to be here by your magic...if the king found out, you would be hanged."

"Or burnt at the stake," Merlin added, which earned him a reproachful glare from Gaius.

This was just getting to be a little too weird for Clark. It had to be a dream. He would wake up any minute now, with Lois blasting Whitesnake or his mother telling him to wake up for dinner. Letting his anxiousness get the better of him, he made a snap decision and pushed past the two in order to open the door and run away. He heard twin sighs of exasperation behind him as he dashed down the stairs into a spacious room filled with what looked like alchemy supplies. It really was an elaborate set, he'd give them that.

After a hurried search for the door out, Clark pulled it open with as much self-control as he could manage so as to not rip the door off the hinges out of desperation. It was just a corridor, long and as much made out of stone and medieval-looking as anything or anyone in this place. Where was he? This had better not be some sort of tactic to keep him contained inside his mind...was he even in his mind? Clark pinched himself. Of course it hurt. Of course this was real. He'd never had such a vivid dream, even going as far as to say that this probably wasn't one.

As he continually turned halls and corridors, seemingly finding no end, Clark became increasingly desperate, breathing heavily and running his hands through his hair. Not many things made him this worried and freaked out, but even the idea of being lost forever in the labyrinth he was stuck in now was enough to make his palms sweat. He'd seen no one so far, but he suddenly turned a corner and ran into someone, who he only just started paying attention to.

The blonde guy he'd run into was seething now, his brown eyes showing the irritability that was also in his voice as he growled, "Watch where you're going." Clark just blinked at him, a bit surprised at finding another person besides Merlin and Gaius, and even a little put off by how arrogant the blonde seemed.

"Are you deaf? I said watch where you're going!" the guy snapped, with yet another British accent. Just how many here were from across the pond?

"Sorry," Clark said quickly, and turned to leave, but the blonde's hand was on his shoulder, and he was scoffing now.

"Don't you know who I am?"

Clark glanced around with a confused expression. "Um...no...?"

The young man, who looked to be between Clark and Lex's age, flared his nostrils and said through his teeth, "I'm Prince Arthur, you idiot."

It took a moment, but Clark began to snicker, then pulled a straight face as Arthur's expression turned indignant. "I'm sorry, but...you're Prince Arthur, like...King Arthur and the Round Table?"

With a deeply pissed off sigh, Arthur seemed to turn away, but rebounded and punched Clark right in the face. It all happened very quickly, but before they knew it, Arthur was holding his fist to his chest, cradling it, almost, and using curses Clark had only read about in history class.

"What...How...Are you magic?" Arthur demanded through the pain he was clearly feeling. Clark of course felt guilty; he should have at least ducked or pretended it hit him and hurt. He just shook his head, trying to find words.

"I'm...I'm not magic, I didn't even think that existed...,"

Arthur groaned, "Yeah, well it does, and if that wasn't magic, I don't know what it was. Who are you, anyway?" Clark was beginning to feel held up-he really needed to get out of here and find a way out of this elaborate set.

"My name's Clark Kent, and I'm from Smallville, Kansas," Clark announced, realizing halfway through that he sounded like he was at an alcoholics anonymous meeting. The supposed prince looked at him strangely through narrowed eyes as he circled Clark slowly.

"You don't look like a servant...," he muttered, "...though your clothes certainly are odd..."

"I'm definitely not a servant," Clark insisted, straightening up his back and standing up taller. He'd always beat his friends height-wise, and Arthur was shorter than him as most were, but the guy seemed to have a sort of presence. He could almost believe he was a prince in the way he held himself and spoke.

"If you aren't a sorcerer, and you aren't a servant...are you a peasant? A squire? A...knight, maybe?" Arthur said that last suggestion with hesitancy, as if he wouldn't really believe Clark if he confirmed to be one. Clark wasn't really sure what he was about to say when Merlin rounded the corner and gasped thankfully having found him.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, earning a glare from Arthur.

"You know this man?"

Clark held his head higher and smiled a bit, having been called a man, while Merlin replied, "Ah, yes, he's...he's...he's my cousin!" Even Clark had to admit, that statement sounded a little weak, and quite clearly made up.

"You're making this up," Arthur said monotone, a tired look on his face. It was almost funny to watch Merlin sputter up excuses, but Clark took this time as a chance to try and slip away. It didn't work.

"Hold on, where do you think you're going?" Arthur sounded a little pissed off as Clark slowly turned around. Merlin's face had a desperate expression on it, as if he was pleading Clark to go along with it. Arthur just looked annoyed.

Clark sighed, "Look, I don't know how I wound up here, and I'm sorry but I can't stay. I have to find a way back home."

"And where is home, might I ask?" Arthur inquired, an eyebrow raised slightly.

"Kansas, I already told you."

"Kansas," Merlin and Arthur sounded out in unison, puzzled looks on their faces. "I've never heard of it before," Merlin stated matter-of-factly.

"Not even I have, and I actually know places, unlike Merlin," Arthur admitted, and Merlin frowned. "You're looking for nowhere, my friend."

Clark bit his lip, thoughts racing-where was he? Wherever it was, it was getting realer and realer by the minute. He was almost scared it wasn't going to end up being a dream, a trial, or a setup. In the middle of his thoughts, someone down the hall called out, "Your Highness, the king asks for your presence in the courtroom." Clark looked up just as a knight left the hall, with Arthur calling back that he'd be there soon.

He stood scrutinizing Clark for a moment before declaring, "You'd better come with me, Clark Kent."


	2. Chapter 2

Once they were in the throne room/ courtroom, Clark could hardly take it all in, it was so beautiful. Lords and ladies of the court stood at the side of the large room, with pillars lining and supporting the gracefully sloped ceiling. The floor itself was painted in enchanting patterns that caught Clark's attention until the king's booming voice did.

"Who is this, Arthur?" the king, Uther, if Clark was getting his mythology right, inquired of his son. Both Pendragons had the same air, the same presence Clark had felt earlier, though the king used this aura to his advantage. In fact, Clark would almost say Uther left an imprint similar to Lionel Luthor, in that he craved power and just might do anything to get it. But that was just first impressions.

Arthur stepped forward, ahead of Merlin and Clark, to speak, "He's introduced himself as-" But the introduction was short-lived, as it was interrupted by an unknown voice from someone in the crowd among the assorted knights, ladies, and lords.

"Soren?" Disbelief was in the woman's voice as she stepped in front of the others towards Clark, who took a step back cautiously. "Soren, where've you been?!" she cried, clearly excited to see him though he'd never seen her before in his life.

"Who...who are you?"

The woman sobbed, then turned to the king, falling on her knees as she did so. "Your Highness, my son Soren has been missing for nearly a year. It is a miracle that I've found him, truly a miracle!"

Yeah, Clark still didn't know who this lady was. "I'm sorry, but you're not my mother." A few gasps sounded around the room, though he was telling the truth. Sighing exasperatedly, Clark threw his hands in the air. "Will someone please explain to me what's going on? I went to sleep one minute, and the next I'm in this crazy alternate universe or whatever, I don't even know. Does anyone know how to get to Kansas?"

The room was dead silent, and the only movement came from the woman claiming to be his mother (he didn't need this happening again), who rose from the floor and reached her hand out to touch his face. Weirded out, Clark drew back and gave her a 'please get away' look. She received the message and, with a pleading expression, looked at the king. "Please help him, sire. He may need medical treatment," she begged. Great. Now everyone thought he was crazy.

But now was his chance to prove this was all a dream, or to solve this trial; whatever he needed to do to get the hell out of here. So he gathered up the courage, then took off running towards the door, which he saw was closed. Two guards crossed their spears over the door in classic fashion, and all around people were gasping and whispering about the strange boy who was making such a commotion. Letting out an annoyed breath, Clark decided to take advantage of this dream and use his powers he'd been itching to use ever since he'd arrived. So he grabbed hold of the spears and pulled them away from the guards...only they pulled swords on him.

Not to worry. He was invincible. But suddenly the king shouted for him to be restrained and, defying everything he'd come to know about himself, a guard behind him whirled him around and punched him clean in the face. The woman who'd called him Soren yelled at the guard to stop, which he did, but had to hoist Clark off of the ground from where he'd fallen. Now two guards were on him, and despite his best struggles, he found he could do nothing supernaturally to keep them away. What was it? Kryptonite? Blue? He didn't feel green.

Dragged in front of the king, who was now glaring at him and scrutinizing him relentlessly, his face hurt even more as the woman's sobs of joy could be heard from practically any point in the room. "Why do you run, young Godwood? Your mother is glad to see you."

"She's not my mother," Clark insisted, putting all his despair and urgency in his voice. But the king didn't buy it. No one did. Hell, not even Clark did.

"Come, now, why must you talk about her that way? She gave birth to you, gave you a place to rest your head at night. You should be grateful. Camelot is not the place for petty childish rebellion; go home to your mother."

This was ridiculous. Struggling and tugging at the guards' tight grip, Clark was starting to pant, as if he was close to tears. "Let me go!" he begged, but they did not comply. In fact, no one seemed to care. Except for Merlin. When Clark glanced over, there was a kind of concern and a hesitance to do something in his eyes. To his rising hope, he also noticed Merlin whispering something to Arthur, who subsequently went up to the throne.

"Perhaps, Father, there is good reason for this boy not to want to go home." Though Arthur did get a shake of the head from the woman, Uther seemed to consider this, if only for a moment.

"Why do you wish to keep away from your kin, my boy?" the king finally asked.

Clark was relieved he was able to be heard in the matter as he explained, "I know I might sound crazy, but I'm from a small town-well, a long ways away from here. That's...why my accent is so weird. And my name is Clark Kent. Uh, son of Jonathan and Martha Kent." Sure, there were muttering of skepticism around the court, but Clark felt good that he'd gotten his two cents in.

Uther was deep in thought until a man's deep and fear-inspiring voice came from the crowd, as well, dismissing, "Of course he would say this. He's been running from us for years. He would do or say anything to keep from coming home and fulfilling his responsibilities."

"Is this true?" Uther questioned with a deep frown. Clark gulped. There was another person against him in this?

The man who'd just spoken up came over to the woman with tears in her eyes and kindly offered her a handkerchief before turning to the king. "Soren has caused me and my wife a great deal of trouble, Your Highness. We should like to bring him home before he causes you any more."

"You are certain this is your son?" the king asked, his firmness wavering.

"Of course," sobbed the woman, and faced Clark, taking his face in her hands. "I would know my boy anywhere." Clark was hoping and praying with all his might that he could be let free and could continue on his journey home somehow...but luck just didn't work that way.

"Then Soren Godwood is yours," Uther confirmed, and waved his hand in a way that looked like he was passing a law. He probably was. If he was, that meant that according to all of these people around him...Clark was lawfully this couple's son.

His eyes were wide and helpless as he was dragged out to the hall, where the guards left him there and the couple joined him. The only people in the hallway were him and the two, but he didn't care who was watching as he slid down the wall with his back against it, face emotionless. He was numb for the moment. What was going on? Were all these people crazy? Not only were his powers gone, but Clark had no idea where he was and no clue how to get back home. To make matters worse, the woman was now stroking his hair, cooing about her 'baby'.

Coming to, Clark swatted her hand away and snapped, "I'm not your baby, okay? I don't even know who you people are."

Suddenly he felt a stinging slap across his face, and he blinked multiple times as the man who claimed to be his father growled, "Don't talk to your mother that way."

"SHE'S NOT MY MOTHER!" Clark screamed, standing up with all his might and preparing to run.

But he wasn't that fast without his powers, and he definitely wasn't invulnerable anymore. The man's hand was now around Clark's throat in a vise-like grip, barely allowing him to breathe. The man's harsh but soft voice was in Clark's ear now, and Clark had no choice but to hear him out. "Soren Godwood, I am your father and Branwyn is your mother. You have caused her much pain, so you will stay with us now. For good. Do you understand?" Clark nodded as much as he could, starting to feel light-headed from lack of oxygen. The man (whose name was still unknown) could still see it, though, and finally let him go, leaving him gasping for air and coughing violently.

His eyes were now watery, but Clark could still see the worried look on Merlin's face as he left the courtroom with Arthur and passed by. Clark would have craned his neck to see him more, but his fake father grabbed the back of his neck and steered him the opposite direction, with his fake mother trailing not far behind.


End file.
